Page 105 of Thorns of Deceit
I shook my head. “That’s their story. Not ours.”
She smiled faintly, but the question still lingered. “Aren’t you worried, though? About how we could end up like them? Both our parents’ stories are tragedies. It’s hard—some might even say impossible—to find real soulmates.”
“I don’t think soulmates are born,” I said after a moment. “I think people become them over time, through the choices they make. It’s about showing up, choosing each other, standing together no matter what.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I didn’t. I abandoned you… and my mother.”
“That’s the past,” I said again, firmer this time. “We’ve got the rest of our lives ahead of us. The only question is—will we stand together for it?”
Her small hand slid across the table to rest on mine. “Yes,” she said simply and without hesitation.
Something inside me twisted at that. Her hand—small, bare, no rings—rested on mine, and my chest ached with a feeling I’d gladly admit out loud if I didn’t think it’d scare Raven. Jesus Christ, was I turning into an emotional fool in my old age?
Yeah. I was.
I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out the wedding ring I’d taken from the corpse. Her ring.
“Then let me put this back where it belongs,” I rasped, sliding it back where it should have been for the past five years. “I want the world to know you’re mine.”
Her lips parted, eyes wide, tears glistening in the candlelight.
“What—where—” She blinked rapidly, searching for words. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel so emotional all of a sudden.”
“It’s because we’re pregnant,” I said, a smug smile tugging at my mouth.
She laughed, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“You kept it all this time?” she asked, lightly brushing her fingertip over the band I’d given her five years ago.
“I couldn’t part with it,” I admitted.
Her eyes locked with mine, soft and remorseful. “It makes me feel like a heartless bitch. You were mourning… and I was living.”
“You were living,” I echoed. “But also surviving. We both were. And maybe it had to happen that way. You grew up, got stronger, learned to fly. Besides”—I leaned closer, lowering my voice—“you still saved something for me.”
Her brows knitted in confusion. “What?”
I let my lips graze her ear. “Your virginity. All your firsts are mine.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson, but before she could reply, the waiter returned with our food, breaking the spell.
We ate, talked, and laughed. For a while, the world shrank to just us—good food, the candlelight, the soft hum of Paris outside. And then?—
“Aiden?”
The voice cut through the restaurant, sharp and familiar.
Raven froze mid-breath, her fork hovering just above her plate. My shoulders went rigid, the warmth between us vanishing in an instant.
I turned my head slowly, the muscles in my jaw tightening as my gaze met his.
Uncle Jack.
Of all the goddamn people to run into in Paris.
“Aiden,” he drawled, sauntering toward our table with that smug, lazy confidence I’d always hated. “Didn’t expect to still find you in Paris.”
I set my glass down with deliberate calm. “What are you doing here?”
